


Death is Preferable to Loss of Virtue

by IllestRin



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Beta Read, Gil carrying Malcolm, Hanahaki Disease, Hurt/Comfort, I put that boy on a counter oh yes i did, M/M, Malcolm Bright Whump, Older Man/Younger Man, i have a kink, regrettably the sex dosen't take place on the counter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:07:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24834313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IllestRin/pseuds/IllestRin
Summary: Feeling a tickle at the back of his throat Malcolm tries to quietly clear it without drawing attention to himself, finding only mild success.Gil looks over to him. "You alright kid?""Hmm? Oh yes, fine." He gives Gil a bright grin, waving a hand up in the air next to his head. "Dust in the air."☆Hanahaki?Hell yes.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo/Malcolm Bright
Comments: 38
Kudos: 98





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hannah_BWTM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannah_BWTM/gifts).



> This fic is mostly complete already, except for some editing and an extra chapter that needs written. 
> 
> I would like to thank Hannah for being my beta. It really helped.
> 
> And I want to give my love to King and the rest of the [PSon Trash Discord](https://discord.gg/KZxYFDJ) Sprinting crew. (And if you are 18+ you can come hang out too.)
> 
> The rating will go up.

It had started, as most things did in Malcolm Bright's life did, rather inconveniently. 

When the third similar body showed up within as many weeks, the Major Crimes division of the NYPD was called in to help out.

"Can you tell us more about her?" Lieutenant Gil Arroyo starts off as he enters the crime scene, moving towards the medical examiner. Malcolm follows a short distance behind, taking in the layout of the apartment's single bedroom. The body of a woman is lying in the middle of a bed, set to the middle of the wall, dark sheets almost untouched. She looks as though merely resting, head comfortably settled against the pillows, if not for the deathly pallor of her skin and the stain of blood trailing from her still lips, darkened and dry. She had not expired recently. The room is not large, only containing the bed, nightstands, and a large chest of drawers set along the opposite wall. There is enough room for the three adults to comfortably occupy the space, but only just. 

Dr. Tanaka was just beginning to start her preliminary examination of the body. "She seems to be about the same age as the previous two victims, early 30s. She's been dead roughly 48 hours and she's come out of rigor mortis. Cause of death might be the same but I won't know more until I get her back on my table for a more thorough examination."

"Thank you Edrisa." Gil gives her a nod.

Feeling a tickle at the back of his throat Malcolm tries to quietly clear it without drawing attention to himself, finding only mild success. 

Gil looks over to him. "You alright kid?" 

"Hmm? Oh yes, fine." He gives Gil a bright grin, waving a hand up in the air next to his head. "Dust in the air." 

He stares down at their newest victim. What is it about her that drew their killer to them? If it is the same killer as their previous two victims, as Malcolm suspects it is, what connects the three of them together? "The three victims have been found a week to ten days apart, correct?" He looks over at Gil to be given a nod of confirmation. "And each has been left holding a similar dried white rose." He trails off, staring down at the victim as the medical examiner finishes up, her team ready to step in and prepare the body to be taken back to the morgue for examination. "Edrisa, what was the cause of death for the previous two victims?" 

"Asphyxia and exsanguination as a result of advanced Hanahaki. I won't know for sure if this victim died the same way until I examine her but from what I've seen so far I imagine it'll be the same." 

Malcolm nods at the information, acknowledging he’s heard it but doesn’t reply as he becomes lost in thought for a moment. Gil places a hand at the nape of his neck and squeezes gently before letting his calloused thumb rub at the sensitive skin on the side of his neck. It has always been a soothing gesture, one that never fails to loosen tight muscles and slow down his overactive thought process. But these days Malcolm cannot fight the rise of goosebumps that the calming gesture brings forth. He is thankful that the older man has yet to notice this new reaction to his contact. Malcolm is afraid that Gil would put distance between their easy friendship, and the pain of that would kill him. 

Shoving those thoughts aside Malcolm turns to Gil and gives him a soft smile, doing his best not to look like the love-struck teen he feels like right now. It has been a losing battle for a while now. 

"Do you need to look at anything else in her apartment before we head back to the precinct?" Gil gives the nape of his neck another warm squeeze before letting his arm drop back down by his side. 

Malcolm shivers imperceptibly at the loss of contact. "I think I'm good." 

The profiler gives the body one more look before he turns and walks from the room, Lieutenant Arroyo following close behind. 

☆

Later that day the team regroups back in the conference room to puzzle over the particulars of the case. The ID pictures of the last two victims were already displayed, pertinent information dictated underneath. Gil finishes tacking up the picture of their newest victim before turning to their resident profiler. 

Malcolm claps his hands together and throws the team his trademark manic grin before he gets started. 

"Ok. So. Hanahaki. It's a Japanese word, well, two words. Hana, which is flower, and haki, which means to vomit." He pauses a moment to make sure that he has the group’s attention, letting his eyes scan across to JT who is standing at the back of the room. James Thomas? Juan Tico? Jarmel Tyrone? He would learn what JT stood for one day. "It is a relatively rare disease, afflicting maybe one person in one hundred thousand of the general population." 

"Bright is right!" Edrisa pops her head into the room, folder in hand. Everyone in the room turns to look at the medical examiner, making her uneasy. "Well, I mean when isn't he right about these things?" 

Gil drags a hand down his face in exasperation. "Edrisa. Get to the point. Please."

"Oh, yes. Sorry." She smiles and walks further into the room and lays the open folder on the table so the other occupants of the room could look at the contents. "The deceased, Jae Myron, 32. Still waiting to hear back on the tox screen, but other than the condition of her lungs, which were pretty gnarly by the way, she was in peak physical condition." 

Malcolm’s gaze strays from the file and settles upon the older man across the room from him. Gil is wearing one of his unbearably soft-looking sweaters again, arms folded across his chest. As if noticing Bright's attention focused his way, Gil looks over into his baby blues; the skin around his eyes softening in careful affection.

"As doctors have been able to discern, Hanahaki is a condition caused by a combination of hormones that the body releases when a person believes their love is unrequited. Those hormones trigger vines to grow in the lungs, which will eventually flower." Suddenly it feels like the air in the room has started taking on a stuffy quality and Malcolm reaches a hand to adjust his tie, loosening the knot gently as he turns away from Gil to stare back at the white board. "The vines grow thorns which pierce the lining of the lungs, making breathing difficult. Hanahaki is agony. Imagine slowly suffocating, coughing up bloody flower petals. A visible token of love. Tragic. And yet still beautiful." 

JT cuts in with a question. "But you said this happens when you are in love with someone that you are convinced doesn't feel the same way. Wouldn't that mean every Tom, Dick, and Harry would be spewing flowers and dropping like flies?"

"There are other factors at play. Genetics for one. Oftentimes a crush is mistaken as real love, but the conditions are not optimal to trigger the disease to take root." Malcolm replies back to him. "Does that answer your question?" 

JT’s eyes bug out at the profiler. "Is this just another one of those things that you know an unnerving amount about or did you just Google it on the way back over here?" 

"I had an, um.. I had a cousin." Malcolm looks down at the floor. 

JT pales at his reply. "I'm sorry man."

Gil looks at Malcolm's profile as he studies the information displayed on the board. "You mentioned treatment?" Without looking away from the board to give a reply, the corner of the younger man's mouth turns down in a frown. "There are a few treatment options. The biggest hurdle is if the individual actually wants treatment." 

"I'm afraid Bright is also right again." Edrisa’s tone has become more somber this time, her dark eyes downcast. "Most do not seek treatment for Hanahaki. If they haven't already resolved the feelings that caused the vines to grow in the first place, then the only other option is surgery." 

Malcolm adds in "It takes much longer than a week between onset and fatality. Usually the prognosis is closer to 3 to 6 months if left untreated, and it takes at least a few weeks before the afflicted starts to cough up flowers after the vines take root in the lungs."

"Why weren’t we brought in on this earlier?" Malcolm looks over to Detective Powell as she chimes in to the conversation. Dani, now, since she finally considers the two of them to be friends. 

Malcolm replies "The first two victims hardly looked like homicides. Just two deaths attributed to Hanahaki isn't too unusual, especially in a city of this size. Even with the white rose left with each body. Until the third showed up nearly the same way. It's not just a white rose though. It's a dried white rose. Now, that is oddly specific. Why is it dry?"

Gil gives him a nod before replying. "It probably has some deeper meaning. Twice is a coincidence, three times is a pattern. White roses are so ludicrously common that checking all of the florists in midtown is a complete waste of our resources. What we can do is call the ones within a few block radius of each victim to confirm that no abnormally large purchases of white roses have been made in the last month." 

Gil looks over at his team, a grimace on his face. "If the pattern holds we have a week or so before the next victim."

☆

"The questions we should be asking is… why these victims, why this method?" Malcolm continues after he unlocks his loft and lets Gil enter before him. The thought has been bothering him the entire day. What is it about these victims that is drawing their killer in? 

They had spent most of the day chasing down leads that went nowhere, searching for clues they could not find. Malcolm clears his throat before offering Gil a tired smile. "Drink?" 

"Please." Gil replies while he inelegantly drops himself into the couch, exhaustion evident. 

Malcolm pulls two glasses out and sets them on the island before pulling out the whiskey he saves for Gil's visits. Pouring a measure of the dark, amber liquid into each glass Malcolm takes a moment to just observe the older man. 

Lieutenant Gil Arroyo.

He wasn't a Lieutenant when Malcolm Bright met him. But then again he wasn't a Bright back then either, but a Whitly. A scared boy afraid of what his father was capable of, then Gil Arroyo swooped in and literally saved him and an unknown number of people. He had always been there when Malcolm needed him in his life, no matter what. 

Malcolm observes the little things about his older companion. How kind the years have been to him, the crinkle of skin next to his eyes when he is amused. His dark, kind eyes. The grey hairs finally winning out in his beard, lending to a more distinguished appearance. 

He watches as Gil lays back and relaxes, comfortable in the loft, in Malcolm's space. How comfortable he looks in his sweaters, and it hurts to realise just how much he wants to lean up against him and be held. 

Malcolm frowns, pausing to put the lid back on the container of whiskey. No matter how hard he tried he would never be free of his past, of his father. He would never be good enough for Gil. 

What had started as a slight tickle earlier in the day became a sudden scratch that he could no longer ignore, and he moves away from the kitchen island giving in to the desire to cough. The need to soothe the irritating scratch in his throat. 

The coughing fit is over as quickly as it came on, Gil raising an eyebrow at the other man. "You alright kid?" 

"Yah. Yah. Um." He takes a moment to swallow. "Must be the dust from earlier." He smiles again, trying to put Gil at ease. Picking up the glasses he makes his way to the couch and hands Gil the other tumbler before taking a seat next to him. He takes a small sip of the alcohol before setting his glass to the side, turning his body towards Gil and watching him for a minute more. Gil leans back into the couch drinking from his glass, closing his eyes in obvious enjoyment. 

Malcolm picks up their conversation where it left off "So. Like I was saying before. The first question we need to ask is 'Why these victims? What about these victims is drawing this killer in? Why these women?"

Gil opens his eyes after a moment and looks at his friend. "You also mentioned another question that needed to be asked."

The corner of his mouth perks up. "Yes, I did. Why this method? They didn't just die of exsanguination. They died of exsanguination via Hanahaki. That can't be easy to do. That's an…" He trailed off for a moment. "That's an investment of time and emotion."

Gil gave him an easy smile. "You'll figure it out Bright, you always do." 

Malcolm smiled at him, at the praise. It was such a simple thing, the faith that Gil had in him. Though it might not have meant much to Gil, it means the world to Malcolm Bright. Picking his drink back up he covers another small cough with his glass. 

☆

Shortly after Gil retires to return to his own home, Malcolm tries to ready himself for yet another sleepless night. Changed into clothing more suitable for sleep Malcolm stands in his bathroom staring down at the sleek countertop, bare feet cold against the slate flooring. Now that he is alone at last, he can finally let the exhaustion show on his face. It has been getting more difficult to hide his discomfort from Gil. Turning on the tap and letting the water warm up, Malcolm grabs a washcloth sitting on the counter and wets it thoroughly. Looking up into the mirror Malcolm begins his nightly task of removing the light layer of concealer he gently applied in the morning. 

This has become routine by now, for at least the last month. Starting at his forehead, then gently scrubbing under his eyes. Taking a moment to rinse the cloth before continuing Malcolm catches his face in the reflection of the mirror. He looks awful, and he knows it. The bags under his eyes have never been darker, his lack of sleep never more obvious. Malcolm takes the newly wet washcloth and gently swipes across both of his cheeks and down to his chin, making sure his face is clean. 

He attempts to smile at his reflection in the mirror, finding only a grimace looking back in return. 

Thankfully it had only been just a slight tickle all day, something he could easily manage, but now that he’s alone in the comfort of his own home Malcolm finally gives in to the deep cough he had been fighting down all day. Gripping both hands onto the edge of the countertop he leans over the sink, just in case his coughing takes a turn for the worse. After several minutes the attack finally slows enough to a point where Malcolm can finally catch his breath. Staring at the pale face in the mirror Malcolm opens his mouth and with the tips of his fingers pulls out a single red tulip petal stuck to his tongue. 

"Fuck."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again I want to graciously thank Hannah for being an amazing beta! And the fellow Trash for their constant encouragement ♡ I could not have done this without you guys. 
> 
> If anyone would like a halfway relevant song to this story, might I recommend [The Amazing Devil - Elsa's Song](https://youtu.be/vDN8yYWAZI4)
> 
> Third chapter may or may not be up by tomorrow. 4th chapter still needs written. And there are 6 chapters total. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Malcolm calls his doctor the next morning to make an appt as soon as possible. 

"Now, Mr. Bright. How long have you been having these coughing fits?" When the doctor enters the room, it takes all his strength to not jump while sitting awkwardly on the edge of a crinkly paper wrapped examination table. The doctor is quite a petite woman, maybe a decade older than Malcolm with her dark hair swept up into a loose bun. Her name is Dr. Copeland, going by the ID tag hanging around her neck. 

He cannot help but fidget anxiously as he gives his reply. "I have been fighting a minor cough for a few weeks, and sleeping less. But I am a chronic insomniac, so the lack of sleep isn’t too unusual. The cough hasn’t been that bad either, not until a few days ago." 

"Please tell me what happened." Dr. Copeland takes a seat on the squat rolling chair, delicately crossing her ankles in front of her and focusing on her patient. 

"I've been having a persistent ache in my chest lately that I have been mostly ignoring, but after work, a few days ago I was getting ready for bed and I had a coughing fit. I could not stop coughing for several minutes. After it was over I found this." Reaching into his pocket Malcolm pulls out a ziplock bag containing the withering red tulip petal to hand over to the doctor. 

Taking it from his hand the doctor holds it up to the light, scrutinizing the delicate petal from every angle. "And where did you find this?" 

"I pulled it out of my mouth." 

Both of Dr. Copeland's eyebrows rise to her hairline as she stares down her patient. "Mr. Bright." Malcolm can’t stand to look at her anymore, he knows what she is about to say and can hear it in her tone. He drops his gaze to his lap where his hands rest, trying to control his usual hand tremor. Unsuccessfully. 

This was the part he was dreading. Having to acknowledge what this meant. Malcolm had been avoiding thinking about this for days. Coughing up one bright red tulip petal where none should exist was just overwhelming to think about, especially in light of the team’s current case. 

Dr. Copeland continues, her voice softening in the face of her patient's obvious discomfort and anxiety. "Mr. Bright, I would like to run some tests and an x-ray of your chest cavity to confirm the diagnosis, but given your symptoms and this-" she holds up the bag containing the tulip petal "-I am giving you a preliminary diagnosis of Hanahaki." There is no hiding his hand tremor now, as Malcolm raises a shaking hand to cover his eyes. "Mr. Bright. Do you know who it is?"

Malcolm nods, still keeping his head down. Of course he knows who it is. Who else would it be? There was only ever one person. 

There was only ever him. 

"It is still early enough, you have options. The x-ray will help give us a better timeline, that way we can look at treatment options. I will write you a prescription for an inhaler. It will not slow the progression of the disease, but it could provide you with some breathing relief in the next few weeks if you allow it to progress." Dr. Copeland retrieves her prescription pad from a drawer in her desk and starts to scribble the necessary information across the pad of paper before ripping it off and holding it out to him, patiently waiting for the young man to notice the prescription. 

Malcolm finally allows the hand covering his eyes to drop as he looks up at his doctor, and gently takes the prescription from her. "Thank you." 

"Mr. Bright, I think it is time you have a serious conversation with someone." Dr. Copeland's tone is stern but gentle, and she sounds well practiced in dealing with patients receiving unwelcome news.

Malcolm gives her a weak smile, but they both know it is just for show. "Yes, of course." Even as he says it Malcolm knows that he has no plans to engage in a serious conversation with _anyone_ about this. And certainly not with him. Oh god, not about this. That would mean revealing everything.

A slight frown graces her features. "If your conversation proves unsuccessful there is always-"

Eyes bulging wide, Malcolm interrupts Dr. Copeland before she can finish, knowing exactly what she was about to suggest. "No!" He swallows, and tries again. "I mean, no. I don't want the surgery. I know the risks. I will not be choosing that option, thank you." 

"Then I will do all that I can to make sure that you can remain comfortable, if nothing else." She lays a gentle hand on his shoulder, and squeezes once before letting go. "I would like to see you back here in two weeks so we can go over the results of your tests. We can come up with a treatment plan then. Go home. Think about your options. Please, Mr. Bright."

Dr. Copeland turns away from her patient and exits the room, leaving Malcolm alone perched on the exam table and feeling despondent. It takes a few minutes for him to finally get up and leave the room. 

Malcolm goes through the rest of the morning on autopilot. He barely pays any attention to his surroundings as he checks out and moves onto the Radiology department for his chest x-rays. It’s on to the pharmacy next to fill his new prescription, and finally he makes the journey home to his loft. 

It's all that he can do to stop himself from buckling into his restraints and just staying in bed for the next week. Giving Sunshine a melancholic greeting as he walks by his beloved bird Malcolm goes straight for the bar, dropping his new prescription on the island and doing everything he can to avoid dwelling on his current predicament. 

He has every intention of pouring an early drink until his cell phone starts to vibrate with an incoming call; it’s Gil. Swallowing against the discomfort rising in his chest and pasting a fake smile to his face in the attempt to mimic a cheery disposition over the phone, Malcolm picks up the call. "Hey Gil. What have you got for me?" 

"Edrisa has some information for us about the Hanahaki case. I'm going to swing by and pick you up on my way back to the precinct. Are you home?" 

"Yes, I just got back from running some errands. Give me a few minutes and I'll be ready." Malcolm smiles through the phone while his stomach clenches in dread. He didn’t expect to see Gil this early today. 

"See you soon city boy." 

Malcolm ends the call and sets his cell phone back down on the island, doing his best to take slow and deep breaths, testing the capacity of his lungs before he has to see Gil again. The ache is thankfully minimal, but it won't stay that way for more than a few weeks. Malcolm grabs the bag with his new prescription and takes the inhaler in hand, tossing the paper bag it came in. Holding the plastic inhaler in the center of his palm in line with his face Malcolm stares at it. Considering. 

"Well, Sunshine, I guess this is my life now."

Quickly glancing at the instructions to make sure he doesn't fuck this up, Malcolm shakes the inhaler while he slowly exhales as much oxygen from his lungs as he comfortably can given his newly diagnosed condition. He places the plastic mouthpiece between his lips and presses the plunger while breathing slowly in, repeating the action one more time. Putting the cap back on the inhaler, Malcolm hides it in one of the kitchen island drawers before walking to the bathroom. It has been a challenging day already; it would be a good idea to check that his makeup is flawless before Gil shows up. After a quick touch up Malcolm returns back to the main room of the loft to wait for Gil's arrival.

Until the older man shows up Malcolm is left alone with his thoughts. The very last thing he currently wants. His right hand starts to tremble a little, so he shoves it in his pocket to put it out of sight. 

So. 

Hanahaki. 

_Excellent._

What the hell was he going to do now? Before he coughed up that flower petal Malcolm just assumed that the degradation of his health in the last few weeks had been attributed to less sleep than usual, combined with fighting off a minor illness at the same time, but not this. Never this. 

As if the mere thought of his condition triggered a reaction, Malcolm doubles over coughing again. God, to think it was only going to get worse from here on out. Quickly slapping a hand over his mouth as his vision started to speckle black at the edges, Malcolm can almost imagine the feeling of the vines growing in his lungs, working their way up, killing him slowly. Little sharp pains prickling up his chest with every effort to breathe normally. 

It takes a few minutes for the attack to abate and by the end Malcolm is struggling to catch his breath, and his chest just _aches_. There are tears in his eyes from the effort, and he is exhausted now. 

What a miserable day. 

*Knock knock*

"Oh shit."

Gil absolutely cannot see him like this. Malcolm drops his hand away from his mouth to yell a quick scratchy reply. "Jus-just a moment!" Looking down at his hand he sees an entire blooms worth of red tulip petals in his palm. He hurriedly throws them in the garbage before gently dabbing at his eyes with the edge of his sleeve and calmly walks over to the door. 

Malcolm takes one last breath before opening the door to stare into the face of the man he loves. While he knows that the man is the cause of his current suffering, Malcolm would never trade the love he has for Gil for anything in the world. 

Gil stares at Malcolm with a small frown. "Did you just finish eating lunch?"

The question catches him off guard and puts Malcolm on edge. "What?"

Gil takes a step into the loft and raises a hand towards Malcolm’s face and gently swipes the pad of his thumb across Malcolm's lower lip. The profiler's heart stops dead in his chest at the gesture. "You have a little… something." 

Malcolm can feel his face heating up in a blush at the intimate contact. "What was it?" He licks the path Gil's thumb traveled across his lip and cannot taste anything more than skin. 

Gil glances at his thumb before he wipes it off. "Something red." He turns to leave the loft. "Come on, we've got some work to do kid." 

Malcolm follows behind him, but with every step taken he feels dread running down his spine like a grain of sand in an hourglass, and he is running out of time. 

☆

"Ranunculaceae!" Edrisa exclaims.

"Come again?" Gil thinks it sounds like a tongue twister. 

"The clematis. It's the flower that was growing in the lungs of our newest victim, Jae Myron."

They meet Edrisa in the conference room to talk over the information she had gathered from her examination and tests. Malcolm sits down at the table, exhausted from his day and Edrisa's exuberance is just not helping. JT and Dani enter the room shortly after Malcolm and Gil and sit down on one side of the table. Edrisa sets a sample container on the table that holds a full blossom of a purple clematis. The flower managed to maintain most of its colour despite the environment in which it was grown. 

"I think my mother had those growing up on the side of her house when I was a child. They grew back every spring no matter what she did." JT chimes in. 

"All parts of the plant are considered toxic and can cause ulcers in the mouth if consumed. The leaves and seeds of one subtype was once used as a black pepper substitute when black pepper was very rare and expensive." Edrisa replied.

"And… how do you know this?" JT gives the medical examiner his most befuddled expression. 

"I looked it up before you got here?" Edrisa doesn’t hide her look of exasperation. 

"Thank you for your honesty." Gil takes a seat next to Malcolm and picks up the specimen container to observe it better. "This is just for Jae Myron, right? What about the previous two victims? Tiffany Brock and Alice White." Edrisa answers by stepping forward and gently placing two more specimen containers on the table in front of Malcolm and Gil. Both of the men look up at the doctor with similar looks of confusion on their faces before the lieutenant speaks up. "Now, I'm not a horticulturist… but these look really similar." 

Edrisa smiles. "Your assumption would be correct. All three victims had clematis flowers growing in their lungs. I had samples preserved." 

Malcolm stares down at the collection of flowers in front of him, thinking about the flowers growing in his own lungs at this very moment. There is something not sitting right about this. 

"Isn't it kind of…. odd?" He glances over at Gil. 

"What's odd, kid?" 

"For three victims, one after the other, to fall ill with disease that is not contagious _and_ to grow the exact same flower. This specific flower."

"I would have assumed everyone that fell victim to Hanahaki would have been spewing red roses. But it's a clematis?" Malcolm supposes JT doesn't have much experience with individuals that succumb to the condition, and he cannot fault him his lack of information. 

Malcolm subtly tries to rub at the ache that is starting to present itself in his chest again. "No. Not everyone with Hanahaki presents with the same flower growth, so this is extremely peculiar." 

Dani enters the conversation with a remark of her own "So what is it about the clematis?"

"It probably has something to do with the language of flowers." Malcolm replies. 

"The language of what now?" JT's confusion isn't too surprising.

"In Victorian times people would communicate with their friends and love interests via flowers. It would convey their deeper feelings in ways that words could not begin to touch, and when Hanahaki was first being discovered it was noted that each individual case could be categorized by the type of bloom. Eventually studies were done and scientists have been able to discern the hidden meanings behind the types of flowers afflicted people grow in their lungs." Malcolm wiggles his fingers near his head. "It has something to do with a specific set of hormones the body releases."

JT gives him an incredulous look. "Man, where do you get this." 

Malcolm shrugs it off, hoping to project nonchalance. "I read a book once." 

Actually, Malcolm has spent the last few days learning what he could about his prognosis, and he hopes no one has any access to his recent search history. 

And, because he has not one lick of self-control or self-preservation, especially when he is around Gil, he turns towards the man and continues talking. "In fact, did you know that it's not just red roses that symbolize a deep and pervasive true love, but also red tulips? There is a legend about a Turkish prince that was so in love with a maiden that when she died, he was so overcome with grief that he threw himself over a cliff. Bright red tulips grew from his spilt blood, a symbol of his perfect love for her."

"A bit gruesome if you ask me." JT remarks in a quiet tone to his partner next to him. Dani nodded along. 

Gil looks thoughtful for a moment. "So what about a clematis?"

Malcolm pulls up one of his many secretly bookmarked websites on his phone and starts to check through the list. "Clematis… artifice and ingenuity apparently. Also apparently not that common. Three in a row is very unusual." 

"Hey Bright, the other day you mentioned a cousin. What flower did they have?" JT asks, though not unkindly. 

Malcom turns his body back to face the others so he doesn't look so focused on Gil. "Forget-me-nots." He must exude some level of distress today because Gil immediately starts rubbing the back of his neck like he used to when Malcolm was younger, not caring that they are still in the presence of their coworkers. He gives Gil a thankful smile, appreciating the contact. 

☆


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So funny story. While editing this chapter I couldn't come up with the word for "pity."
> 
> My google searches to find a word for pity include-  
> Downward concern  
> Condescending concern &  
> Patronizing concern
> 
> Thankfully I finally figured it out and had a good laugh about it. 
> 
> As always much love to Hannah for her glorious beta work. 💜💜💜

☆

After a few days and a few near misses, Malcolm starts to carry his inhaler with him instead of leaving it at home. The coughing fits are starting to feel just as natural as breathing and once he feels them come on, he excuses himself and finds an unoccupied room, coughs out however many red tulip petals he can and disposes of them before using the inhaler.

It only takes a few more days before the red tulip petals Malcolm coughs into his hands are speckled with the darker red of blood. 

His mouth has a coppery floral taste he cannot get rid of, making eating and drinking nigh on impossible. 

☆

The team gets a call about a possible fourth victim later in the week. When Gil and Malcolm arrive at the scene it is almost identical to the last crime scene they had visited. Another bedroom in another apartment. Another woman lying prone atop her bed. Another dried white rose in her grasp, placed on her chest. 

"How does someone use 'unrequited love' as a murder weapon?" Gil looks over at Malcolm standing next to him, worry etched on his face. Malcolm is just _exhausted_ , and he knows he’s not hiding it very well anymore. He had been up half the night choking on bloody tulips. According to everything he has been reading the last few weeks his condition shouldn't be progressing this fast, and yet he is suffering just the same. 

"That is the million dollar question." The words sound tired coming out of Malcolm’s mouth, and he’s got no idea how to answer it. 

Gil looks over at Malcolm, a sense of dread dawning. "Oh, no, kid. We can figure this out without you going there." 

"We might, but we might not. We can't afford another victim in a week. Dr. Whitly might see something we are missing. Something that _I’m_ missing." 

The older man sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "The florist angle was a bust, but I wasn't hopeful. Do you have any idea how many places in midtown sell white roses?" 

"It's a message from the killer, it has to be. 'Death is preferable to loss of virtue.' Whatever that means to him. I looked it up on the same website as the other flowers. Maybe these women weren't virtuous enough for him." Malcolm’s running on fumes and is struggling to keep his thoughts together. 

"It's that language of flowers thing, yeah?" 

Malcolm nods in answer. "I can only guess at the personal reason he is leaving them with his victims, but we will just have to ask our killer when we find him. We might have an easier time finding him if we know how he is killing them." He lays a hand on Gil's arm and gives him a soft smile. "I promise. I won't be long."

Malcolm turns to leave, always hating to walk away from Gil, catching a taxi to Claremont Psychiatric for a consult with his father.

☆

"My boy! So thoughtful of you to visit! What case are we working on today?" Dr. Whitly radiates excitement when he first sees his son, never showing any resentment about his fate.

Every time Malcolm sees his father he grows a bit more irritated. A life sentence committed to a psychiatric hospital for the insane, and yet Dr. Whitly always looks so well when he visits. Conversely, Malcolm hardly sleeps and it cannot be said that he is in peak physical condition, irrespective of his current predicament. He often thinks about what his life would have been like if he had not placed that fateful call to the police to tip them off about the Surgeon's activities. Malcolm is not exactly sure if he would have survived for the last 20 years if his serial killer father had remained at large. 

Malcolm knows he would have most certainly been a victim of the Surgeon. A father's love is not enough against the need for self-preservation. 

Malcolm walks a little further into the room, files in hand, keeping to the safe side of the red line. He can do this. "Dr. Whitly." Malcolm holds out the autopsy notes to his father, maintaining his distance. "These are our four victims."

Martin takes the folder from him and looks through the folder for a minute.

"They died from Hanahaki?" Martin’s tone sounds surprised upon reading the cause of death. 

"Yes." Malcolm doesn’t expand further. 

"All four had the same flower?"

"Three confirmed, the fourth is presumed."

"How intriguing." Dr. Whitly's interest has definitely been piqued with that tidbit of information as he continues to pour over the case files Malcolm had handed him. "Did your medical examiner check the hormone levels?" 

"Nothing irregular showed up in the tox screen."

Martin chuckles "No, my boy. The love hormones! Oxytocin, vasopressin, dopamine, estrogen, and testosterone. Something seems very artificial about this. You should have your medical examiner recheck your newest victim again." He grins brightly at his son as he hands back the case file. "So, tell me, how are you doing. You look tired."

"Thank you for your assistance Dr. Whitly, but I am quite fine." Malcolm has no desire to discuss his health with his father and turns to leave. 

As he waits for Mr. David to open the cell door Malcolm wheezes. 

Oh. 

Oh no. 

Not now. 

This could not be happening at a worse time.

"Malcolm?" His father's tone is laced with concern, though Malcolm is unsure if it is genuine.

Malcolm wheezes again, and fumbles to get his inhaler in a pitiful attempt to stave off the attack he knows is coming. An attack he is about to have right in front of his manipulative serial killer father of all people. Malcolm turns his back to his father, blocking out his tirade of concerned words while Mr. David lays a hand on his shoulder, unsure of how to help. He primes the inhaler even as he starts coughing, the attack in full force now, and it becomes next to impossible to inhale medicine into his lungs while his body is trying to expel bloody flower petals from the same location. 

"Mr. David! Get him some water!" Martin Whitly is now showing his frustration at the situation, tethered to the wall, unable to reach his son in distress. 

Mr. David runs over to the in-room sink to grab a cup and fill it with water, holding it out to Malcolm who is still in the middle of coughing. Neither of the other men are aware of the blood tinged flower petals falling into the young man's hand cupped under his mouth yet. After several minutes the fit winds down, and Malcolm takes slow wheezing breaths, not quite ready to face his father but knowing he has no other choice. 

"Malcolm?" He slowly turns toward his father bypassing Mr. David standing awkwardly to one side, one hand still holding the inhaler, the other still cupped under his mouth. 

He raises his eyes to look directly into those of his father's before he lowers the hand in front of his mouth, knowing exactly what it is Martin will see. 

"Oh. My boy. There is nothing artificial about that." His father's tone is dripping with pity, and Malcolm hates to hear it.

Malcolm tosses the handful of bloody red tulip petals in the trash before taking the glass of water from Mr. David and drinking from it before he even tries to acknowledge what his father now knows about him. "No. It's not." 

"Does your mother know?" 

Taking a moment to consider his options Malcolm attempts to soothe his aching lungs by finally managing to administer his inhaler. Malcolm chooses not to acknowledge his father's question. Martin continues on, the silence answering his question for him. 

"I remember when River had Hanahaki. You were young, maybe 7 years old. You stayed with your mother while I could see what could be done. I assisted with the surgery. When is your surgery scheduled? Who is your surgeon?"

"I'm not." His words are quiet, his voice still scratchy, his chest aching. 

"I'm sorry. What?" There was a quiet rage underneath his father’s words, hard to find, but Malcolm could still hear it.

"I said I am not having the surgery." Malcolm tries to sound defiant but his wheezing undercuts his messaging somewhat.

"You can't throw your life away over this... this _attachment_ , Malcolm! If you don't rethink this, I will have no other choice than to call your mother and tell her."

Malcolm's heart drops and he plays the only card that works against his father. 

"You tell her and I never set foot inside this building again. Do. You. Understand. Me?" 

Malcolm wipes his fist against his mouth, and fuck, he can tell his lips are wet with blood. His mouth tastes of it, barely tinged floral on the edges. 

"Malcolm. You can't put this off forever. You have maybe a month, tops, going by your symptoms. You have to be in extreme pain. Who is it Malcolm?" His father pleads. 

Malcolm shakes his head and gestures towards Mr. David to open the door. He needs to leave. And he needs to leave NOW. 

"Malcolm. Who. Is. It."

Mr. David is giving Malcolm a look that can only be described as pity as he opens the door for the young man to exit, both of them ignoring the belligerent grumbling of the man chained to the wall. 

As he passes the guard on the way out Malcolm makes a quiet request. "Please Mr. David, do not let him make any calls to my mother. This is something I need to tell her myself." 

He gets a nod and a soft reply. "You take care of yourself Malcolm. Good luck."

Malcolm doesn't look back towards his father, even as he is wholly sure this will be the last time he ever lay his eyes upon this cell and the man who occupies it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The whump. It's so delicious. *chefs kiss* 
> 
> Hannah, you are a doll. Thank you for your help ♡

☆

Malcolm phones Gil as he gets into the taxi.

"Gil. Have Edrisa take a closer look at a hormone panel. Dr. Whitly thinks these cases of Hanahaki are artificially induced."

"Thanks kid. Are you coming back to the precinct?" 

God, he desperately wants to spend as many of his remaining days left with the object of his affection, but.. 

"I have a few things I need to take care of, but call me if you find out anything." 

"Will do Bright." Gil answer is short, oblivious to the pain Malcolm is feeling. 

He hangs up and sighs, directing the cab back to his home. He is exhausted, and just wants to rest.

☆

Malcolm's follow up appointment with Dr. Copeland snuck up on him so he found himself sitting on that same crinkly paper covered examination table sooner than he would have liked. He cannot help but fidget while he waits, his hands starting to show signs of shaking before he decides to pre-empt the inevitable tremor and just sit on them. 

Dr. Copeland enters the room looking much the same as last time, carrying a large manila envelope in her hands and flipping off the light switch in the exam room. "Mr. Bright, good afternoon." 

Not trusting himself to speak at this point, too anxious, he just nods in reply. 

"I have your results and I don't want to delay this any further." She removes the x-ray film from the folder and clips it to the light box on the wall, turning it on. "Mr. Bright. I wish I had better news for you. Your Hanahaki appears to be more advanced than I originally thought." Her tone is soft and gentle, as she does her best to deliver devastating news to her patient.

Malcolm just stares at the x-ray of his lungs in shock. 

That can't be right. 

There has to be some mistake. 

There _has_ to be. 

This isn't him.

He has only been sick a few weeks, a month. He is sure of it. 

"Ho-how long?" There is no disguising the shake in his voice, and in front of his doctor there is no shame in it. 

"Is there anything I can say that would help convince you to get the surgery." She cannot help but implore her patient to reconsider.

"Dr. Copeland.. my cousin.. they.. they had the surgery… I was young, but I still remember. They were never the same again. River changed. They removed their love for Anna. Cut it right out. And they were never the same again."

He scrubs at his eyes, but nothing will stop the tears now. 

"He has been a part of my life for _twenty years_. I can't cut him out of my life. My life isn't worth living without him in it, without my love for him." Fuck, his chest is in pain. And all he wants is Gil, to hold him, to tell him it's going to be alright. 

But it's not going to be alright. 

_He's dying._

Dr Copeland leans over towards Malcolm. "Mr. Bright! I need you to calm down before you work yourself into a fit."

Her warning comes too late, and his gasping breaths soon give way to ragged coughs. Dr. Copeland grabs the wastebasket and holds it in front of him, rubbing a gentle hand against his back, soothing the young man. Malcolm just continues to sob and gag, choking on bloody red tulip petals as he attempts to expel them into the trash. 

It's not fair. It's just not _fair._

What feels like an eternity later he is finally spitting the last petal into the trash, and sucks glorious oxygen into his battered lungs.

Dr Copeland tries one more time to get through to Malcolm "Is there someone you would like me to call Mr. Bright?"

He shakes his head no, not yet feeling up to talking. 

In this moment he has never felt more alone in his life. 

☆

He goes home to his loft, locks the door, turns off his cell phone, and drops onto his bed. 

He lets himself cry until he has expelled more tulip petals and ends up curled over in pain, lonely and depressed. He didn't even bother with his concealer this morning and he knows just how awful he looks, but it is a drop in a bucket to how horrendous he feels. 

Fear grips him as Malcolm realises he has to come to terms with his future. 

Because he doesn't have one. 

And tomorrow he will have to go back into work and face the love of his life, the cause of his death, and put on a brave face. 

Because no matter what happens, he cannot have Gil find out. He can't have that on his conscience. 

But for today. 

Just for today. 

He can just wallow in his depression and his fate.

He'll be dead in a month. 

☆

Malcolm wakes up to a pounding at the door. Thoughts fuzzy as his brain kicks into gear he raises his head and squints in the direction of the door. 

What time is it? When did he fall asleep? 

Who could be at his door? 

"Malcolm! Malcolm! You open this door this instant! I know you're in there!"

Oh no. It's his mother. 

"Hold on mother! Give me a moment." Damn, his voice is scratchy. 

He jumps from his bed as quickly as he is able and tries to hide the evidence of his illness. There are flower petals _everywhere_ on his bed. Frantically sweeping his arms across the mattress Malcolm pushes as many petals as possible off to the far side, not having time to worry about the ones he’s missed.

There’s no doubt in his mind that he must look like a hot mess right now.

He needs a mirror. He needs a mirror now. God. Panic is starting to set in and he can't let it. He needs to remain in control or he will work himself up again. The last thing he needs is for his mother to find out that way. Malcolm applies foundation as quickly as possible to cover up the bags under his eyes and tries his best to even out his skin tone in the 2 minutes he gives himself before he straightens his clothes and walks quickly back to the door where his mother is still huffing on the other side. 

"Malcolm! Finally. A mother might begin to think her son is avoiding her with this kind of behavior." Jessica’s familiar bite lurks at the back of her greeting to her only son. 

"I wasn't avoiding you mother, I had my phone off."

Jessica gently pushes her way into the loft and walks past her son, before turning and giving him a once over. "Don't tell me you slept in that." 

"I can sleep in anything."

"You don't sleep, _darling_ , don't lie to your mother." She pats him on the check. "Now be a dear and go get cleaned up. Adolpho is waiting outside for us."

"Why are you here?" Why is she here? What time is it? 

"Friday brunch. Are you alright?" 

No. He's really not. "I've been feeling under the weather lately." 

It's not the right time to tell her. 

Is there ever a good time to tell someone you love that you are dying? 

Is there ever a right time to tell your _mother_?

No. There probably isn't. 

"Malcolm. Sweetheart. You need a vacation. You need to get away from all of this. Away from the murder. Away from your _father_." Malcolm can hear the disgust in her tone, and Mr. David must have been successful these last few days otherwise his mother would have broken down his door already. 

"Sure. Sounds great." Malcolm hopes his agreement cuts this awkward conversation short. 

Jessica's hands rest defensively on her hips. "Now I know there is something wrong. You never agree with me." 

Fuck, he can't do this right now. 

"Mother. Let's not forget our brunch." He does his best to smile for his mother, to reassure her, but his heart is just not in it. 

"We are not done having this conversation Malcolm." 

He turns to go find an outfit that he hasn't slept in, taking it to the bathroom to change. Now that he isn't in a panic he is able to take a bit more care to fix his makeup, smoothing out a few more spots and problem areas. It needs to hold up to more scrutiny now that he knows his mother is looking for any cracks in his defense. 

He looks in the mirror, now in a new change of clothing, and gives himself a once over. Has he always looked this sick? How is he going to make it through the next month without anyone else finding out?

How is he going to leave everyone?

The same hopelessness threatens to swallow him back up again, and there is nothing he can do. 

Gil could never love him. 

He wheezes, and grabs at his chest, struggling to draw in air. His inhaler is still in the kitchen, fuck! Malcolm tries to take slow breaths but the panic is setting in, his vision darkens and he collapses.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was added as an afterthought after I had finished the entire story. It's kind of like a dreamscape chapter? 
> 
> So I'm posting it today instead of tomorrow because it's so short. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!

☆

Sometimes it feels like he has always been in love with Gil.

Sometimes it feels like it was just yesterday. 

But really, Malcolm Bright fell in love with Gil Arroyo across scattered moments in time. 

☆

Gil visits him while he is still in the FBI. His apartment outside of Quantico isn't as spacious as the New York City loft his mother keeps aired out for his visits, but it is still home all the same. 

"I'm so glad you could make it! How is Jackie doing?" Malcolm smiles eagerly, hoping for good news. 

Gil gives him a tired smile, trying to put on a brave face. "She's hanging in there kid. She's tougher than all of us."

"I know. Be sure to give her my love when you head back, ok?

Gil gives him a tight hug, and Malcolm leans into his warm frame.

Their reunion is interrupted by a soft chirp and Gil's attention is drawn to a new feature of the apartment. "Oh? Did you get a pet?"

Malcolm smiles, happy to show off his new bird. "Let me introduce you to Sunshine."

☆

Malcolm slumps onto his couch and throws an arm over his eyes, exhausted to his very bones. It was a bad case, a bad day, a bad week, everything was just bad. 

*buzz buzz* 

Groaning he pulls out his phone and checks the display. 

It's Gil. Finally his day is turning around. He smiles before answering the call.

"Hey, Gil. How is New York?"

☆

He finds a small package on his doorstep a few months after that phone call. 

Gil had sent him a package of his favorite candies and a book. Malcolm reads the post it note before peeling it off. 'Don't try and solve this one before the first chapter ends city boy -Gil'

Malcolm keeps the post it note.

☆

Malcolm closes his eyes and turns his face skyward, warmed by the patchy bits of sun that reaches him through the gaps in the buildings. Content to just listen to his companion talk about sports as they walk back to the precinct after a shared lunch out. 

"And so I think the Yankee's 2018 Rookie Gleyber Torres will win the American League MVP next year." 

Malcolm nods along, not really understanding what Gil is talking about, but content to share in his company. 

His perfect afternoon gets ruined by being in the wrong place at the wrong time, a truck hits a patch of gutter water, hitting him dead on. 

Laughter. 

He looks over at Gil and his older companion is doubled over in sheer amusement at his predicament. "You look like a drowned rat in a fancy suit city boy." 

He can't help but smile, Gil's amusement is contagious. "It's not that funny." 

Gil pats a hand on his damp shoulder. "Come on. I've got a change of clothes back at the precinct you can borrow."

Malcolm returns the sweatpants. 

"Sorry Gil, the drycleaners lost your shirt. I'll replace it."

The drycleaners did not lose his shirt. 

☆ 

A wrapped sandwich is placed in front of him, breaking his staring contest with the file on the table in front of him. Malcolm looks up to see Gil starting to walk off. Huh.

"The deli made my sandwich wrong. It's yours kid. I'll get something from vending."

Malcolm picks up the sandwich and checks the notations. 

The sandwich is made exactly the way he likes it.

Maybe a short break will give him the edge he needs for this profile. Malcolm unwraps the sandwich and takes a bite. It's perfect. 

☆

"Just sit down for five minutes Bright." Gil is ushering Malcolm into his loft, ignoring his protests the entire way there. 

"I'm fine Gil! He said I _barely_ had a concussion. I'll take a nap and be good as new." He knows he doesn't have a chance in hell of convincing Gil he doesn't need watching, but it didn't hurt to try.

Malcolm didn't need a babysitter. He was fine!

"Kid, it's not just a concussion. You nearly lost your head today. Just.. just let me take care of you for a little while. Now, sit. Down." 

He lets Gil steer him to a chair and sits down without complaint after that. 

If he's a little light headed, it's because of the concussion he _barely_ has. 

☆

They're both hunched over some case files in Gil's office late one day, and Malcolm says something witty, he can’t even remember what it was anymore. But it made Gil chuckle, and Malcolm looks up into his dark eyes and is struck. His heart skips a beat.

Wow. 

Staring into those eyes for the rest of eternity would not be a tragedy. 

_I am in love with him._

The revelation caught him off guard. 

"You find something?" Gil looks concerned now. What must his face look like now?

Malcolm forces a smile. "Sorry, lost in thought. Can I see that file?"

☆


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I still have one more chapter to edit, so despite the way the chapter ends, the story does not end here. 
> 
> I also think ch7 is the single longest chapter at like 3k ish. So. Look forward to that tomorrow. \o/
> 
> Again, so many thanks to Hannah, without whom this story would be far less coherent

☆

*Beep…. beep… beep...beep* 

The distinct tang of disinfectant is the first thing Malcolm notices as he finds his way back to consciousness, and he can hear voices talking just off to the side. 

What happened? Last thing he remembers he was at home getting ready to go have brunch with his mother.. and.. oh shit. 

Malcolm's eyes snap open and he gasps, drawing the attention of the other occupants in the room with him. He can make out the shape of a woman in scrubs and a silhouette of what could only be his mother. The nurse comes over to check his vitals before leaving the two of them alone. 

"Malcolm! Sweetheart! You're awake.. now darling, don't worry, I'm going to have everything taken care of. Just as soon as soon as we get the consent forms handled." Jessica sounds like they’re discussing seating options at a show. 

Confusion clouds Malcolm’s mind, he must have heard incorrectly. "Consent forms?" 

"Darling, you are very sick. You passed out at your loft and gave me a dreadful shock! Now just relax, we can fix this."

A dawning sense of dread washes over Malcolm and he attempts to sit up before Jessica rushes over to ensure he stays in bed. 

"There is nothing to fix!" Malcolm's wheezing doesn't make for a convincing argument. 

"Malcolm! They told me you have Hanahaki. You need the surgery if you're going to be this stubborn about dealing with your feelings." His mother had never lost the ability to scold her children. 

Struggling against the hands pushing his shoulders back on to the bed, his weak body is unable to sit up despite his best efforts. "No! No. Mother. I can't. I won't. You cannot make me go through with this. I would rather die. Please just let me go. Please mother. Please let me choose how I die. I choose this." 

Jessica's hands falter. "You can't be serious Malcolm! This is your _life_ we are talking about!" 

He takes a moment to wheeze and catch his breath, the nasal cannula providing a bare minimum of oxygen, not nearly enough to satisfy his poor ravaged body. "I am very serious Mother." 

"But the surgery-"

"I can't end up like River!" There is no hiding the terror in Malcolm's voice. 

"But that is still living! We can adjust.." Jessica makes it sound like there’s something she could do to help him live without a piece of himself forever, as easy as changing the paint colour on the walls. 

"No, mother. _You_ can adjust. I am so sorry, but there is nothing else to say. I will not remove him from my life just as easily as removing my fucking heart!" Fuck. He is wheezing again. 

As quick as anything, Jessica latches onto the important information Malcolm has shared. "A _him_ is it? Well. Out with it. Tell me who has my baby boy so ready to throw away his life over _feelings_." Jessica draws out the word like it’s beneath her. 

Malcolm closes his eyes and shakes his head. He never wanted his mother to find out. He never wanted her to know just how much he loved.. 

It was almost as if just the mere thought of the man triggered another attack and suddenly Malcolm is gasping and trying desperately to gain oxygen that his lungs refuse to accept. Jessica quickly grabs a bedside pan to shove in front of his face as he attempts to vacate his airways of the bloody red tulip petals. The taste in his mouth is permanently a cross between copper and potpourri at this point, and it is disgusting. 

The time between coughing fits is shorter now, and this attack lasts longer than the one that came before. It has been weeks since Malcolm could breathe without pain, without the fear of flowers in his mouth. It is as he knew it would be. It has been agony. 

"That's it. If you won't listen to me, I know who will talk some sense into you." 

Malcolm's eyes widen in a panic, immediately knowing who she plans to call as she pulls out her phone and pulls up Gil's contact with a manicured finger. 

"No, please.. mother." He knows that she has tuned him out, even as she completes the call. 

"Hi. Gil. It's about Malcolm. Can you come to the hospital?"

☆

After the call from Jessica Whitly Gil dropped everything and ran to the hospital, afraid of what he was going to find. 

He rushes into the room and stops dead next to Jessica, who he finds standing next to the hospital bed. 

Gil stares in horror at the sight in front of him. Malcolm is in a hospital bed, nasal cannula wrapped around his ears attempting to deliver supplemental oxygen, and he just looks as weak as a newborn kitten. And he is so pale. Why is he so pale? 

"Kid.. what.. how.. What did you do? What's going on?" 

"He won't listen to me, please talk some sense into him Gil!" Jessica is nearly in hysterics, tears falling without a care, and Gil has no idea what he has walked into. 

Both of their attention is drawn to Malcolm by the sound of his wheezing again. "Mother. Please, no." 

Gil steps closer to the bed, drawn by the sight of Malcolm in such a desperate state. His beautiful blue eyes are watery as they look up at Gil, and his heart breaks. He looks as though he is on death's door, and from Jessica's behavior, that might not be far off the mark. 

"Malcolm.. what happened?"

"I.. I can't." Malcolm just shakes his head, tears streaking down his face, and it pains him. Gil cannot stand to see him like this. Gil grabs Malcolm's free hand not caught up in wires and squeezes it gently. "Whatever it is, your mother is here, I'm here, we'll get through it kid." 

"He has Hanahaki. And he won't get the surgery. He won't save his life. My baby is dying. Please, Gil. He won't listen to me, he won't listen to reason. Please, do something." Jessica is outright sobbing behind him now, and Gil's heart drops as he looks into Malcolm's eyes to confirm what she's saying.

"Malcolm?"

He wheezes and coughs as if in answer, tears still falling from his bright blue eyes. "I can't." Another coughing fit over takes him and Gil relinquishes his hand to grab the trash can nearby and hold it in front of his face before Malcolm starts coughing up dozens of bloody red flowers. And his heart aches. How did this happen? When did this happen? He rubs his free hand against Malcolm's back while he is hunched over, gasping into the pail. 

"I.. I need to go talk to your sister.. I can't do this right now." Jessica practically runs from the room leaving the two of them alone. 

Gil sets the trash can back on the ground and helps Malcolm lay back, smoothing his hair back with his hand. "Hey. Let's talk about this." Gil gently wipes some of the blood still clinging to his lips, damn the kid looks exhausted. 

"What's there to talk about Gil? I'm dying. Let's just.. leave it at that." Malcolm sounds so… defeated. Like he has no fight left in him. It's not like him at all. Malcolm is a survivor! He doesn't give up!

"You were never supposed to die before me, do you understand!" It pains him to see Malcolm just give up. Gil can't help it, he can feel tears falling down his cheeks against his volition. He leans over and rests his forehead against Malcolm's, and stokes his cheeks, no longer caring about the distance between them.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I couldn't." Malcolm’s voice sounds so small and Gil’s heart breaks all over again. 

"Is this connected to the case? Did you get too close?" 

"No, it's not that." Malcolm mumbles. 

"Please, Malcolm. If the surgery is what will save you, please get it. I can't lose you." Gil’s voice is cracking with emotion. 

"You don't understand Gil…" He pulls back to look into Malcolm's eyes, needing to see.

"Then help me understand." 

"I.. I.. I would lose you Gil. I can't live the rest of my life like that. I wouldn't be me anymore. I would rather live out the time I have left, in agony, then become a shell of a man. Can't you see that?" Tears well up in Malcolm’s eyes, threatening to spill over.

Gil isn’t quite following what Malcolm is saying "Why would you lose me?" Then it hits him. It can't be...

"Because I love you. And I kno-" Gil doesn't give him a chance to continue, leaning down and pressing his lips against Malcolm's like he has wanted to do for so many months, cradling his face gently. 

He keeps the kiss chaste, knowing Malcolm is still unwell, and he feels fingers carding through his hair and something unclenches in his chest as he lets loose a sigh of relief. 

He peppers kisses across Malcolm's closed eyelids and down his nose, tasting the salt of tears across his cheeks, finally pressing another kiss to his lips before pulling back. 

☆

Malcolm's eyes flutter open, and it is like he is seeing Gil for the first time again. How could he have missed this? It was written plainly across his face, for him to see, if only he had been looking. 

"But… why?"

"Why you? Pretty boy, don't even give that any more thought. I love you. Please believe me. I love you Malcolm." Gil says the words he couldn’t have dreamed of hearing five minutes ago and Malcolm feels a surge of energy he hasn’t felt in weeks. 

Not even caring about still being connected to an IV Malcolm’s other hand finds its way into Gil’s hair and he pulls him back down desperately into another kiss. 

They stay that way for another minute, Malcolm desperate to believe he hasn't already died and this is his heaven. He is reluctant to deepen the kiss on the account of the state of his own mouth, knowing he can still taste flowers, which lets him know this isn't a dream. 

"Gil?! Why are you kissing my son?!" At Jessica's shriek they pull apart, Malcolm lets go of Gil's hair and allows the older man to move back and straighten up.

"It is.. exactly what it looks like Jessica." Gil replies for him.

His mother stands in the doorway staring at the two of them, her mouth agape, while Gil takes the visitor chair next to the bed and grabs Malcolm's hand. He laces their fingers together, bringing Malcolm's hand up to his mouth to place a gentle kiss on the back before resting their joined hands back on the bed.

"This is not what I called you here for Gil!" 

"Mother. It's ok. It's going to be ok." Malcolm closes his eyes and breathes deeply. 

It.. hurts less already. 

"Him. You were in love. With him. And ready to die. For him." She sounds furious.

"Mother, please. I know this isn't quite what you were expecting, but at least I should no longer be dying?"

"We'll see if the doctor agrees with that sentiment." She immediately turns on her heels and exits the room again, her heels clicking down the hall as she goes off to find a doctor.

Malcolm sighs, still exhausted from his ordeal, the pressure of Gil’s thumb gently stroking the back of his hand grounding him. 

"Don't worry Malcolm, she'll come around. Eventually." He feels Gil press a kiss to his temple, and he smiles, turning to face him. 

"This is real, right? I'm not hallucinating?"

Gil raises their clasped hands and presses light kisses to Malcolm's knuckles, reassuring him. "I love you Malcolm Bright. I will tell you every day of my life if it helps you believe me. Now please, get some rest. You're still recovering. I want to make sure that the doctor clears you. How are you feeling?"

Malcolm closes his eyes and slowly breathes in and out for a few minutes. It still aches, but.. it's less. 

"It's… better."

Never in a million years did he ever imagine Gil would love him back. 

It's…. exhilarating. 

"I love you. Can you please kiss me again?" Malcolm tries to give the other man his most puppy dog pleading expression but Gil leans in before he has to try for long, and he sighs happily into the kiss, bringing his hand up to pull Gill closer again. 

Kissing Gil might be his new favorite activity.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've actually had this done and edited for two days but I haven't had a chance to post it so I'm sorry for the delay! 
> 
> I want to give a MILLION thanks to Hannah and Pond for their help with this chapter. I have never written sex before and I struggled with it and their advice and revisions brought everything together nicely. 
> 
> I still can't believe I wrote a 14k Hanahaki fic in a month after not writing anything for 15 years. But here it is. 
> 
> I hope you guys have enjoyed it.

☆

Once Jessica returns with the doctor the two men have separated and Gil is sitting in the visitor chair again, their hands still entwined. 

"Alright Mr. Bright, let's get you scheduled for some x-rays in a bit so we can double check on your condition." The attending physician announces to his patient while checking over Malcolm's vitals, making sure everything is in order. "I'll have them come collect you in a bit." The doctor nods to Malcolm and Gil, then to Jessica, before leaving the room. 

"I talked to your sister. She'll be coming to visit you later." He nods, looking up at his mother. "Are you… are you sure this is what you want?" 

"Yes mother." He looks over to Gil, who only has eyes for him. "I am very sure that this is what I want." He squeezes their joined hands and smiles up at Gil, receiving a smile in answer. 

How was he so blind before? How did he miss it?

"I'm not saying I'm happy with it. Give me time to get used to it, ok? And YOU." She points a perfectly manicured finger in Gil's direction. "Not a toe out of line. Nothing but the best for my son. Do you understand me?" 

"Yes, ma'am." It is not hard to hear the relief mixed in with exasperation in the lieutenant's tone. 

☆

Ainsley's visit was brief, and her reaction to the change in her brother's relationship status was along the lines of "Finally! I thought I was going to have to put up with your puppy dog love for the rest of my life." His sister managed to drag their still dramatic mother away with a promise to visit next week when he was recovering, leaving Malcolm to Gil. 

His x-rays still showed some vines, but his condition was showing signs of improvement. 

The tears streaking down his cheeks have nothing to do with despair this time, and everything to do with the hope he is now filled with. 

Hope for his life. 

Hope for his future. 

"Well, Mr. Bright, I believe you are on the mend. But you still need to be mindful for the month or so as you recover fully."

He nods in agreement. It's understandable, and more than he had hoped for when this had first begun. 

"Thank you, doctor." The physician turns and leaves the room, closing the door. 

Gil walks over to stand in front of Malcolm sitting on the edge of the bed before resting his hands on the younger man's thighs, placing a soft kiss on his lips. "Ready to go home?"

Malcolm’s eyes narrow as he asks "Don't you have to get back to work?"

"Powell and Tarmel are working on the lead you gave them. Edrisa took a closer look at the hormone panel of the newest victim and found something. But that is not for you to worry about today." Gil sighs and rests his forehead against the younger man's. "Today you were weeks away from dying. And I didn't even notice. Bright, no work, not today. I'm taking you home." 

He finds such comfort in their closeness, even while still in the hospital, while this relationship is still only hours old. It's enthralling. 

"Alright. Let's go home."

☆

"You know I can take care of myself, right?"

"That remains to be seen, Bright." Gil's tone is exasperated, but fond, as he helps Malcolm into his loft after they leave the hospital.

As they enter the loft Gil gets an update from Dani that they are waiting on a warrant to go and arrest their likely Hanahaki killer, a community college chemistry professor. 

"How is our boy?" Dani asks after the case particulars have been dealt with. 

Gil looks over to Malcolm relaxing on the couch, and his heart is full. "He's good. Thanks for handling the case. Call me with any updates."

"Will do boss." 

He hangs up and joins Malcolm on the couch, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him in. Malcolm lays his head on Gil's shoulder, closing his eyes and breathing him in. "I'm not dreaming, right?" Gil presses a gentle kiss against his temple. "Not unless we both are, kid." 

Malcolm’s chest still aches, but it's better than it was, and he is finally breathing better than he’s been able to in weeks. "Was that about the case?" Gil lays his cheek against Malcolm's soft hair, stroking up and down his arm. "They have a warrant and Dani will call with updates."

"Mmhmm." Malcolm hums a reply, eyes closed and relaxed. 

"You want to nap here or in the bed with restraints?"

"Mmhmm."

"Come on pretty boy. That's not an answer."

"Here is fine. You're comfy and I don't want to move." Gil chuckles and presses another soft kiss to his hair. 

"Here it is."

☆

Detectives Dani Powell and JT Tarmel bring in the Hanahaki killer a few days later before he is able to take his fifth victim. A chemistry professor at a community college, Daniel Kluski had access to a laboratory and had been attempting to craft the perfect 'love potion'. The potion’s potency had backfired and resulted in the accidental deaths of four women. In the interrogation with Dani he confessed to everything, and she described him as an 'incel bastard,' the white roses a memorial to his victims grown from his own garden. 

Gil was just thankful it was done and over with. Case closed. 

He had been spending most of his time staying with Malcolm the last few days since he was released from the hospital and the young man definitely kept him on his toes. 

Though he had to go into the precinct to finish the case today, he had a surprise for Malcolm tonight. He is very glad that his health is improving, having come so close to losing what is most precious to him. 

But tonight.. tonight it is all about Malcolm. 

☆

Malcolm hears the door to the loft open and smiles. Gil was home. He had gone into the office earlier promising to bring home dinner and Malcolm had missed him terribly. 

"Malcolm. What are these?" 

There was a vase with a dozen red tulips and assorted foliage sitting on the table. 

"I got bored, went down to the corner bodega and picked them up. Thought it would brighten up the place." 

Gil drops off his bags near the island and makes his way to where Malcolm is standing, placing both hands on the other man's hips, pulling him in. "I thought you'd have tired of flowers by now pretty boy."

"You have to admit there is a certain romance about them, Gil."

Gil leans in, nuzzling against Malcolm's soft hair, who shivers, reaching his arms around the older man. 

"Romance? I nearly lost you to those damn things. How many weeks were you sick with them? During the case, did you know?"

Malcolm drops his head to Gil's shoulder, hiding his face in his neck. "I'm sorry, Gil. Never in a million years could I have predicted this as an outcome." 

"Next time, talk to me, ok?" Malcolm nods his head against Gil's shoulder in compliance, happy to stand here against the other man the rest of the night. 

Gil presses another kiss to Malcolm's hair. 

"Are you hungry?" 

He nods. "A little." 

"Are you up to some spaghetti? I hit the store on the way home and grabbed some stuff. Thought we could make it together."

Malcolm melts a little. Even though it was probably a slip, just the thought that Gil could consider this place his home was good enough for him. 

"Alright kid, go clean up while I get started." Gil pats him on the butt before letting go of their hug. 

"Don't add sauce to the spaghetti, I like to keep mine separate when I eat them." 

"The sauce is not going to be done by the time you get back unless you spend an hour getting changed and washing your hands pretty boy."

Malcolm smiles, hoping he isn't blushing too hard before retreating off to his bathroom. 

By the time Malcolm returns Gil has started on the sauce base in the kitchen space. He has the sleeves of his sweater rolled up his forearm and Malcolm stops dead at the sight. 

The domesticity of it all. It's so _soft._

He walks up behind Gil and wraps his arms around the other man's waist, rubbing his cheek against the soft sweater. He breaths in the combination of the cooking spices and tomato sauce, and the distinctive scent that is just Gil. 

Malcolm is just so happy, and so in love with this man. He has never felt so safe.

"Is dinner almost done?" He squeezes his arms gently around Gil's middle. 

"You know it's not. The sauce is going to take a while."

"What if you turned it on low and we just ate later?"

Gil looks back over his shoulder, only seeing part of the young man's head. "I thought you were hungry."

Malcolm rubs his face against Gil's sweater, nudging against his shoulder blade. "I'm not _that_ hungry." 

Gil quirks an eyebrow, amused at his companion's coy behavior. "Then what _are_ you hungry for, pretty boy?" 

Malcolm mouths at the base of Gil's neck and pushes his burgeoning erection against the older man's ass. "You." 

Gil lets out a shaky moan, reaching an arm out behind him and pulling the smaller man into him, intentionally grinding him into the flesh of his ass. 

"Malcolm…" His tone is low, a warning. 

Not much of a warning. 

"What?" Malcolm feigns ignorance. 

"I called my doctor while you were gone today. She told me sex was ok. As long as I didn't aggravate my lungs." He presses another kiss to Gil's neck. "It's ok." 

"Malcolm. You were dying less than a week ago. These things take time. I'm not going anywhere pretty boy. We don't have to rush anything. I'm going to be here for you, no matter what. I love you."

Gil turns away from the stove and Malcolm takes the opportunity to pull him in and wrap around him. His arms entwine around Gil’s neck, one leg around a thigh, and he kisses Gil for all he is worth, as if trying to translate all that he cannot put into words. 

Gil strokes his hands down Malcolm's back and lets them rest under the swell of his ass, before suddenly hoisting both of Malcolm's legs up and encouraging him to tighten them around his waist, holding his weight with ease. It feels like Malcolm was born to be wrapped around him. 

Malcolm breaks the kiss with a moan. "Have you always been this strong?"

Gil nips at his neck. "Kid, you don't get as far as I do without keeping in shape. And you are not what I would call a burden." He walks away from the stove, carrying Malcolm with ease and deposits his boy on the island counter to the left of the sink. He rubs his hands up and down Malcolm's thighs, avoiding the tent of Malcolm's sweatpants, even as the younger man attempts to rock into the touch. Gil is held close by the legs wrapped around him and the pressure sends a signal to his cock that is aching to be touched. Dinner can wait. 

"If we are doing this Malcolm, I need to turn off the stove, we can't have the sauce burning." He gently tries to untangle Malcolm's legs from his waist despite the noise of protest emanating from the island. "Malcolm. If you want to be fucked, let me save dinner." Malcolm obliges and unwraps his legs with a whimper that Gil feels deep within his stomach and Gil walks away to turn the sauce off. 

When Gil turns back around he sees Malcolm stripping off his shirt and tossing it to the side. He starts to reach for the waistband of his sweatpants before Gil strides over and stills his hand. 

"But I thought-" Gil quiets him with a searing kiss, before pulling back, resituating himself between Malcolm's thighs. 

"Let me."

Gil slowly moves to grab the pants around Malcolm's waist, his knuckles grazing soft and supple skin as he draws the younger man's sweatpants down. Lifting his hips up to assist in the task Malcolm is quickly sitting bare on the island, his cock hard against Gil’s stomach. Gil could kiss every inch of him right now, and Malcolm looks ready to take anything he would give him. 

"Gil, please.." 

Gil stands there for a moment, taking his muscular physique in. "When did you get a tattoo?" 

Malcolm looks down at the bluebird in flight inked above his hip bone, a small smile playing on his lips. "College." 

"Somehow I'm not surprised." Gil leans in to kiss Malcolm deeply and he responds by wrapping his legs back around Gil, pulling him close and trying to find any friction. Happy to oblige Gil wraps his hand around Malcolm’s shaft and strokes his calloused thumb gently across the tip of Malcolm’s rock hard cock, delighting in the little twitches of arousal he can elicit for such little effort. It’s been so long since Gil has felt like this, so intoxicated by the touch of someone else. 

Moaning again Malcolm breaks their kiss with a plea. "Gil. Please."

"Please what?" Gil teases. 

Malcolm looks into his eyes, trying to pour his love and his desperation into them. "Gil please fuck me."

"Hold on tight." Malcolm locks his ankles and arms behind Gil's back, trying to press as close as possible as he is picked up off the counter. Gil grinds up into Malcolm's ass as it rests against him before carrying him over to the bed with ease. 

Gil gently lays Malcolm down on his bed and feels the release of Malcolm’s legs from his back, allowing him to begin his exploration of Malcolm with his lips and hands. He maps out Malcolm's body, learns the curve of his neck, how far down the flush reaches on his smooth chest, the tremble in his legs when he aches with need. The whimpers he makes, his pleas for Gil to touch him, there, please. Gil is aroused by it all, savouring the feeling that this beautiful man was all his. He hovers over Malcolm’s cock, kissing it gently before taking it into his mouth, feeling it swell in response. 

Malcolm is a trembling mess, hard and leaking, and he _aches._

"Gil. _Please_." 

Releasing Malcolm with a small pop Gil searches for Malcolm’s eyes. "I love hearing you beg for me kid." He gently nips the tender flesh of Malcolm's thigh before standing up and pulling off his sweater.

Gil begins to unbuckle his belt. "Prepare yourself for me." 

Malcolm practically dives for the side table while Gil drops his pants and steps out of them, leaving himself in just his boxers. 

Malcolm is already working one finger into himself by the time Gil finally divests himself of his final article of clothing. 

"You look so good getting yourself ready for me pretty boy. Do you think you're ready for another?"

Malcolm already looks wrecked, panting, but he nods. Removing his first finger he adds more lubricant before working both fingers in himself, groaning, scissoring himself open in front of Gil's hungry gaze.

"That's it kid, get yourself ready for my cock."

He works a third in, writhing on the bed, gripping the sheets with his free hand. "Please Gil! I need you now!"

"Budge up. I want you to ride me." He hears Malcolm moan and watches him pull his fingers out as he moves, climbing onto the bed.

Gil is still fit for his age, barely rounded in the middle, and the hair across his chest was just beginning to grey. Electricity sparked where Malcolm’s fingers caressed his tanned skin while he crawled towards Gil’s cock and licked the precome that was leaking from it. It was Gil’s turn to moan as he felt Malcolm’s tongue explore his tip, his overstimulated body shocked by the sensation. 

“Come here kid.” Malcolm pulls off and pours a liberal amount of lube over him, eager to get started.

Swinging a leg over Gil's lap he reaches behind him to position the older man's cock before he slowly starts to sink down, air hissing between his teeth at the stretch. 

"God, kid, you're so tight." Gripping Malcolm's hips tightly to keep from thrusting too soon, Gil leans to suck a mark on his neck. "Are you alright?" 

Malcolm rocks his hips experimentally, finding only a slight ache, before pulling almost all of the way off of Gil's cock before dropping his weight back on. They both groan in pleasure at the sensation. He repeats the motion and the sound of slapping skin and joint moans fill the loft.

Gil looks at Malcolm with a burning desire that’s growing every second. "You're going to come without touching yourself, do you understand?" Malcolm only whimpers in reply.

Gil angles his hips and thrusts up harder hitting Malcolm's prostate. Another deep thrust and Malcolm falters and cries out beautifully. "There! Right there!" It only takes a few more thrusts before Malcolm is coming, painting Gil's chest with white streaks. 

Malcolm slumps over Gil, who holds him tight, thrusting inside of him a few more times before he stills, coming inside of Malcolm's tight heat. 

They lay there for a few minutes panting, trading lazy kisses every now and then, happy and content to just be. When Gil finally softens and slips out Malcolm groans at the loss. They clean up with a few tissues from the nightstand. He smiles down at the man he is laying atop of, utterly content. He receives a smile in return. 

"I love you Gil."

Gil cards his fingers through his boy's soft brown hair, thankful to have Malcolm safe and alive with him. "I love you too kid."

"What about dinner?"

"We can finish it in a little bit. Right now, I've got you right here with me. And that is all that I need."

Malcolm curls up against Gil, the man he has loved for so long and breathes deeply, and without pain, for the first time in weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are 18+ and love Trashy things, come hang out with us over at the [PSon Trash Discord](https://discord.gg/KZxYFDJ)


End file.
